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CoPTRienr 1915 
SI<I<A MCD. BROCKMAN 




EDWIN L. McDowell 



i 



McDowell memories 



Prof. Ed. L. McDowell, actor, poet and teacher, was born 
in St. Louis in 1847. He was educated in the public schools of 
St. Louis. Later on the lure of the footlights claimed him, 
and he was for some time in the company of Mary Anderson, 
under the management of the late John W. Norton of this 
city; but for his mother*s sake he retired from the stage. 

The St. Louis School of Elocution and Dramatic Art was 
founded by Professor McDowell in 1881. Under his able tute- 
lage, many St. Louisans who are now orators and exponents 
of the drama, were started on successful careers. 

Prof. McDowell was best known throughout the United 
States by "Zingarella, the Wild Gipsy Flower Girl of Spain," 
"The Prince Vagabond," "The Crushed Tragedian," and "Little 
Tim Tummer." 

He died 1908, leaving behind him a host of friends and 
pupils inconsolable over the loss of their dearly loved friend 
and teacher. 



FOUND ON THE DOOR OF PROFESSOR McDOWELL'S 

STUDIO. 

St. Louis, Nov. 10, 1908. 

Owing to illness, I shall be compelled to remain at home for 
possibly one week or more. 

Providence permitting an early and practical recovery, I will 
immediately notify all of my pupils. In the meantime let the 
grood work go on — ^"Men may come and men may go, but 
good elocution goes on forever." 

"Get thy spindle and distaff ready, and God will send the 

flax." ED. L. McDowell. 



Latest Compositions of Edwin L. McDov/ell 
MY DEAR OLD DESK. 

My dear old desk, the hour has come 

When we must part; my lips are dumb, 

Nor can my fingers write or spell 

The feelings of my heart, or tell 

The sensings of my soul and mind 

At thought of leaving thee behind. 

Here, on thy old breast, have I leaned 

For many a year; here, threshed and gleaned 

The harvestings of my heart and brain 

For fruitage, threshed, and threshed in vain: 

Here lain my weary head 

And shed hot tears: 

Hoped against hope; and felt the fears 

Of those who struggle to express 

The language of the soul: and dress 

The heart caught thought in words as clear 

As crystal, that the world might see 

And understand the mystery 

Of eloquence and poesy; 

And search with me for the magic key 

Of brotherhood and humanity, 

And the up-to-date clews of the graces three — - 

Life, Love, and Immortality 

Good-bye, old friend, and may'st thou lend 

Thy worm-gnawed breast to those who bend 

Their heads above thee — that same cheer 

Thou hast given to me this many a year. 

But, should, alas, thy age condemn 

Thy usefulness for modern men — 

Oh, then I hope some one shall find 

Thy good old wood the finest kind 

Of seasoned walnut, from which to make 

A keepsake-box for memory's sake — 

Or heirloom gavel with an ebony shine — 

A souvenir of auld lang syne^ — 

On which I may ofttimes look and see 

The face of the man who first loved thee. 

t^ ED. L. McDowell, 

©CI.A419394 



DEC 31 1915 



McDowell memories 



For my highly esteemed and very good friend 
Judge Wm. T. Pollard, St. Louis, Mo. 



LAFAYETTE, THE SOLDIER VOLUNTEER. 

As I listened to the music 

Of the grand old Marseillaise 
I bethought me of a Frenchman, 

Whom true Americans love to praise — 
A scholar and a soldier, 

Whom our nation will ne'er forget — 
That noble volunteer from France: 

The immortal Lafayette. 

I thought of his noble espousal 

Of our cause in freedom's name, 
And of how through storm and disaster 

At his own expense he came; 
Now, at Georgetown, with banners flying, 

He unsheathed his sword, to be 
Used in the cause of fighting 

For American liberty. 

I thought of the young Major General 

At the battle of Brandywine — 
Of how he was beloved by Washington 

And the whole Continental line; 
How at Mohawk Valley, Albany, Monmouth, 

Valley Forge and Barren Hill 
He held his own against the foe 

With superhuman skill. 

And again as I listened to the strains 

Of the inspiring Marseillaise, 
I thought of the blood fraught hours 

Of those French Revolution days, 
When for Liberty and Justice 

France her soul had firmly set, 
And when the foremost patriot of them all 

Was the noble Lafayette. 



Latest Compositions of Edwin L. McDowell 

Lafayette who, while the flames were eating 

The walls of the old Bastille, , 

Stood pleading for popular rights for France 

With more than Spartan zeal — 
Lafayette, at whose suggestion 

The tri-color was first unfurled 
As an emblem, "destined," as he said, 

"To tour the whole round world." 

"What,*' exclaimed the Count De Artois 

(Afterwards known as King Charles X), 
"All the states general do you demand?" 

"Yes," cried Lafayette, "yes, we do — and then 
Something better far than that — a free land." 

And, lo, the states general soon became 
The constitutional assembly of France — 

At work in freedom's name. 

And now wherever the stars and stripes 

Float happily, you may descry 
The tri-colors harmoniously blending 

On the fourteenth of each July. 
For the sons and daughters of America 

And of France must truly feel 
A bond of fraternity thro' Lafayette 

And the fall of the dread Bastille; 

And as long as the Marseillaise strains entrance. 

No American will forget 
The soldier volunteer from France — 

Tre immortal Lafayette. 

ED. L. McDowell, 

St. Louis, July, 1908. 



McDowell memories 



DOLORES ALONE. 



An Acting Monologue for a Woman by 

EDWIN L. McDowell. 

Prologue. 

In a vale hemmed round by mountains high. 

Far down in Spain, my friends and I 

Feli in with a gypsy tribe and heard 

The fair Dolores Alone speak and act each word 

Of her romantic story. 

Beautiful she was, and airy; 

Still young, and graceful as a fairy; 

And while she danced or fortunes told 

And bewitched us of our hearts and gold, 

Anon her tribe would circles form 

Around the monster camp fires, and circling, storm 

The night with torches bright, 

Weaving strange wheels of dazzling light 

And fling them on high, and weirdly sing: 

Somewhere, somehow, Fate rules the date 
On which each soul shall meet its mate; 
And when they meet, one look shall seal 
Two souls in one for Woe for Weal. 

Enter Dolores Alone, 

Ho, Americano ladies, sweet and fair; ho, Americano seftors, 
Brave and strong; come, let me tell your fortunes truly. 
Ah, Senor, you belong to Fortune's happy moods. Let me 
See your hand, fair Ingles maiden; ah, with Fortune's woes 
Your hands are laden. Nay, do not despair, see. these hnes 
Grow strong near Jupiter, and share with Mars and 
Venus tributes rare, and victory over Fate at last. You next, 
Sweet lady. Ah, here is cast the imprints of a fate like 
Mine! No! No! No!— Oh joy divine! here is the sign of 
Triumph ere you die. Yet, have a care, and beware the man 
With the evil eye! Why? What is my name, and who am I? 
My name is Dolores Alone, once the proud gypsy queen of the 
Tribe of Catalonia; now but a rolling stone, rollmg along and 
gathering 



10 Latest Compositions of Edwin L. McDowell 

Moss by telling fortunes, and sharing the toss of the gold with 

this 
Strange old gjpsy tribe. I'm a street singer, flower girl, good 
Teacher of fencing, slack wire performer, or fancy dancing; and 

forsooth 
At fortune telling I tell the truth — as near as such truth may 

be told— V 

By signs and lines, for so much gold. 
How came I here? And would you really know? 
Yes? Then come with me — in fancy come with me, 
And you shall see, and witness be, how Fate designed 
My birth on earth, and assigned my heart and mind 
To feel and know pain, joy and woe. 
Listen. Ere I had ten years been born, by bloody war I was 

shorn 
Of parents, and left to die in the wilds of Spain — and dying was 
When the Prince Don Juan of Aragon, while hunting the foe- 
man, 
Found me and placed me upon his shoulders strong, and carried 
Me happily along into a gypsy camp, where, amid the flare 
Of torch and fire, and trumpet's blare, they christened me 
Dolores Alone, and vowed to share with me their keep and care 
Till I to womanhood had grown, when I their gypsy queen 

should be — 
This compact made they with Don Juan. He stooped and 

kissed 
Me, then rode on, and I again was left alone. 

Alone! Alas, who can atone 

The fate of souls by Fortune thrown 

Upon this cold world like a stone 

From some fierce planet, hot and dry. 

And yet endowed with life, like I! — 

Yea, to grow only for Fate's hard hand to know; 

To live, believing in Fate; nor show 

One trait of childhood born of those 

Whom God and Christ and Heaven know? 

Yea, so rode the good Don Juan away. Yet he bade our chief 

say 
Unto me that he would ever remember and be a real God-father 
Unto me. And that on my coronation day 
His son, Cammillo, should come and pay due homage to the 



McDowell m emories h 

Gypsy Queen— presents of jewels rare, and precious stones 

For the gypsy foundling, Dolores Alone. 

Then Jackaldo came— Jackaldo, the Magician, 

Whose fame as sorcerer and physician, artist and musician, 

Warrior and seer, all Spain did cheer. 

Yet, we often cheer those whom we most fear, 

And so cheered I Jackaldo. 

Jackaldo, whose evil eyes on me had cast 

Their baleful glare, and on me passed 

Judgment to be his bride at last. 

Just Heaven, why may we ever see 
Thy laws defied and set aside. 
And Nature's own true course denied 
By creatures here whose subtle skill 
Betray us strong against our will? 

Oh, how may I ever tell the spell that demon, Jackaldo, 

wrought upon my 
Brain! Yet, his power was vain to ever gain the respect of my 
Heart, or effect in part the purity of my soul. Yet he could roll 
His mystical eyes and throw the subtle glance that would my 
Body and mind entrance; and trace strange symbols 
O'er my face; and place my mind in harmony with his; and bind 
My every energy with the captivity of death. 

Somewhere, somehow. Fate rules the date 
On which each soul shall meet its mate; 
And when they meet, one look shall seal 
Two souls in one for Woe or Weal. 

Then Cammillo came, and my heart was aflame. 

Cammillo, the son of brave Don Juan. Oh, he was a man 

To look upon. I looked, and my heart, indeed, was gone. 

Yea, from that look, in my heart was born an ecstasy 

Which did my sense sway, as when rich, ripe flowers 

Do rain their showers of perfume o'er us suddenly. 

He taught me the way good Christians pray — and slay; 

And how good brothers pray — and slay each other with gun 

and sword. 
But most, my adored loved to teach me to fence — 
The salute, prime and parry, side-step, lunge, and to carry 
The sword to the marrow. 



12 Latest Compositions of Edwin L. McDowell 

And I taught him the guitar and the Spanish Bolero. 
So, sun, moon and stars, life, love and flowers 
Shone and existed for us; and the hours and the flowers 
Did glide, fade and bloom, and the doom of Fate 
Seemed changed for me. 



Then came my coronation day, when as gypsy queen and in 
Bridal array, I stood to be crowned and wed that day. Yea, 
Cammillo had wooed me honorably, and we had vowed to seal 
Our lives as one for Woe and Weal on my glad 
Coronation day. Alas the day! 

Then Jackaldo stood to crown me and to chant the litany 
Of our race, when secretly o'er my face he passed his hands 
And hissed in my ear his subtle commands: 

"Sleep thou, as if in death, nor show of breath 
Be found in thee until the spoken word 
'Awake!' from my own lips be heard." 

Then his serpent eyes shot a serpent surprise into my brain 

And stilled my voice and body, and as one slain by hand 

Of God, by sudden death, I fell; nor would the mirror 

Show that breath or trace of life remained. Yet still, life 

Reigned in me and I could hear and see each 

Act and word; and so I heard my funeral rites 

Proclaimed; while poor Camm?llo, stunned and maimed 

In heart and mind, staggered and groped as one struck blind. 

That night the blaze of burial lamps and gypsy torch 

And moonlight rays shed o'er my bier their mingled light; 

The while I fought with might and prayer to smile or laugh 

Or cry or yell, or tear my hair, or ope my eyes — 

Vain task! The mask — the death mask — was complete; 

The stern conceit of death was on rny face, ^^ 

And I could see a living grave awaiting me. mm 

Then they buried me in a cave, and gave Iw 

Cammillo charge concerning me. 

There, in a crypt of the cave, uncoflFined I lay 

In the pride of my girlhood, in queenly array. 

There, Cammillo, my aflfianced, sacredly wound his arms 

Around my neck and cried: "Oh, Dolores, my Dolores, my 
gypsy bride. 

Come back to me now, come back to mc, dear, and I will for- 
swear 



McDowell memories 13 



The sword and the spear, rank, title, wealth, fame— all, to be 

near 
Thee and defend thee with my name." 

Oh, ir we might only know how near, 
At times, we are to finding our own dear 
Hopes and prayers fulfilled; 
Then we might easily sight the light 
Which always follows the darkest night. 
And all our doubts and fears be stilled. 

Then from his bosom he did unfold a diamond cross 
On chain of gold, which, oft he had told me, to save 
His soul from evil, his dear mother gave, and to exorcise the 

spell 
Of pagan witch or infidel. This he placed upon my breast; 
Then drew his sword and closely pressed it along my side, 
And cried: 

•'Dolores Alone, betrothed of Cammillo of Aragon, 

Here on thy bosom this cross shall rest; 

Here by thy side my sword shall rest; 

Here may I stay while life holds on; 

Here may I die, and- father Don Juan 

Our bones commingled find, and burn 

To ashes in one sacred urn."" 

Then threw himself full length upon the ground bereft of 

strength 
And prayed and wept. 

Noiselessly as a mole from an underground hole, 
Jackaldo crept and leap'd upon Cammillo; bound him fast; 
And the long, loose end cast over strong, long projecting arms 
Of rock; and while knotting the noose in which to lock my 
Lover*s neck and rack his bones, Jackaldo sang in mocking 

tones: 
"Ho, ho, Cammillo, soon you shall rise up high in air; and 
Yonder sleeping beauty there, shall ope her eyes to see her 
Groom flying toward heaven with a rope for a plume. 
Yea, ho, ho, ho, ho, before you die you shall see the trick 
We played upon you good and slick. Ha! ha! ha! ha! 
Yea, you shall see her shake death's counterfeit and for 
Me awake, arise and shine — yea, awaken mine!" 



14 Latest Compositions of Edwin L. McDowell 



There, ere he had thought, Jackaldo had spoken the word 
"Awake," and broken the magnetic tie which he had wrought 
By wizard voice and evil eye. 

Yea, swift as lightning cuts asunder the clouds and 
Awakens the thunder, that word "Awake" flashed and crashed 
Into my hypnotized soul, and from me, swiftly the control 
Of Jackaldo fled, like the soul from a body really dead — 
Yea, by power Divine, my soul did shine sanely through mine 
Eyes again. Yea, by power Divine, I arose, and with the cross 
And good sword, and in the name of the Lord, I stood to ex- 
pose. 
Confound and astound Jackaldo. 
"Jackaldo," I cried, "in your soul you have lied! 
Here I stand to deny your will or the command 
Of your evil eye. Here I defy you hand to hand." 
Clash, clang, the echoes rang. 

Clash, clang, and around where Cammillo lay bound; 
Clash, clang, lunge and parry, each fighting to carry death 
Certain and sure, past all hypnotist's cure; 
Clash, clang, while he smiled and vainly beguiled my 
Eyes to the spot where Cammillo lay bound; 
Clash, clang — then he glared and vowed he had spared 
Me his skill, but yield I must soon, or he would kill; 
Clash, clang, and the sounds of baying hounds broke on 
My ears, from the mouth of the cave. 
Clash, clang, and a billowy wave of streaming light 
Made our pale torches dull and put to flight my fear. 
Clash, clang, and now more near — yea, like a voice from 
Out the sky, a voice cried: "Jackaldo, thou servant 
Of serpents and lies, lay by thy sword, foul fiend. 
Or die!" 

And lo! along the grim barrel of a rifle there shone 
The eyes and the features of brave Don Juan. 
Then Jackaldo threw his sword to the ground — 
And bound in chains, he swiftly passed 
Out of the cave and my life, at last. 
Then quickly Don Juan his son unbound and wound 
His arms around our necks, and said: 

"I am not loathe to find that you, Dolores and Cammillo, 
My son, are of one mind; 

And ere the sun shall journey round the earth 
Another year, lo, here again we shall appear 



I 



McDowell m emories is 

And come for thee; for thee and Cammillo shall truly be 

In marriage joined. Yea, thy marriage rights, indeed, shall be 

Proclaimed by me with wedding bells and revelry, rejoicing 

And festivity." 

Then good Don Juan and Cammillo, his son, 

Stooped and kissed me, and rode on, 

And I again was left alone — 

Queen of my tribe with an absent lover — 

Nor could I present joys discover, or condone 

The sense of being quite alone. 

And yet, I was happy, too; and knew that I was free 

From Jackaldo's evil eye — surely that was joy for me; ' 

Surely, God and His angels guided me then, for, when 

Jackaldo flashed his sword and crashed his blade on mine 

The story of Joan of Arc and the glory of her deeds did shine 

Before mine eyes; and Joan's warrior charms did 

Nerve my arms and fire my brains to fight as 

She fought to maintain her soul's true aims — 

Yea, to die as she died, in flames at the stake. 

Than live to be hypnotized by a snake. 

Somewhere, somehow. Fate rules the date 
On which each soul shall meet its mate; 
And when they meet, one look shall seal 
Two souls for one for Woe or Weal. 

Alas, or ere the sun had lit the moon ten full bright 

Journeys 'round, 

One night, the sound of wedding bells were heard. 

And the swells of bridal music rolling along the castle 

Walls of good Don Juan, whose fickle, false and only son, 

Cammillo, had wooed and won the Princess Bonita for his bride. 

And yet I lived, and have not died! Ah, those marriage bells 

Were funeral knells; and they did roll the spell of death 

Upon my soul. Yea, on my heart those bell tones fell like 

Stones thrown by a hand whose well remembered clasp 

Had warmed my heart and life with thoughts akin to those of 

wife. 
Cammillo, whose life was mine by all the holy vows of heaven; 
Cammillo, whose life was given me to save 
From Jackaldo's jealousy, and the grave; 
Cammillo had forgotten all; and now coald call 
Another woman "Sweetheart," "Wife." 



16 Latest Compositions of Edwin L. McDowell 

Cammillo, too, like Fate, had glassed the image of love in 

My heart, and cast 

The substance of despair at lastt 



So, Adieu, Americanos, and may the hosannas 
Of angels around Jehovah's great white throne 
Greet the forsaken of earth whose fore-ordained birth 
Predestined them the sorrows of Dolores Alone. 

St. Louis, Mo., February 26, 1903. 



THE POLLARD PLEDGE. 

In the St. Louis Police Court a drunkard one day. 

Stood pleading for Judge Pollard to grant him a stay 

Of sentence to the rock pile; promising that he would 

Go home, sober up, and to his wife and children be good. 

And the drunkard said: "Your Honor, I know 

I haven't a ghost of a reason, now, to show 

Why you shouldn't send me down to-day, 

Only you can't reform me from drink that way!" 

Then the Judge spoke to him kindly and asked him there: 

"John, how many times have you promised to care 

For your wife and children and to let whiskey alone 

And for all your drunken deeds atone?" 

"Alas, many times — for let me say, your Honor, I wed 

A girl of good family, fine face, and well bred; 

And she married me because she loved me the best 

Out of scores of rich men as they have confessed; 

And I was a pretty good man, you can bet, just then, 

And in business or sport held my own with all men. 

I was a total abstainer and a man of good parts; 

Owned a mine, fine houses, horses, and family carts — 

All the comforts of home — and I was the constant delight 

Of my customers by day and my folks at night. 

Then I got into politics and in that way I blew in 

A large share of my coin for whiskey and gin; 

And so on down, down, through all stages I sunk 

From one 'nip'-a-day sober, to a whole month, drunk. 

But through it all, Judge, I do solemnly swear 

That I prayed the good Lord to watch over and care 

For my sweet wife and children and to help me to save 



McDow ell memories i? 

Myself from the curse of a drunkard's grave. 

But, alas, there came a day when a Judge of our town 

Thought he would reform me; so he sent me down. 

But not harder the hammer nor the stones it broke 

Than the hate in my bosom that sentence awoke. 

Hate that calloused my soul for heaven or prayer 

And hardened all sense of duty or care. 

A mortgage on my house was "Shylocked" and sold; 

And my poor wife and children turned out in the cold. 

But had I been there they had not been sent 

To the poor house for lack of any food or rent. 

Yes, drunkard as I am now I was not then bereft 

Of all sense of duty; and I had some feeling left 

For my loyal little children and ever faithful wife — 

For whom, tho I could not give up drink, I would my life! 

That's how I found things when I had served my term; and then 

I got busy and soon had my dear ones together again. 

Then the drink demon got me in its clutches once more — 

But don't send me down, Judge, I entreat! I implore! 

For the sake of the little ones and my wife— out there — 

Call her up, Judge, and ask her. I'm sure she'll declare 

That when I am sober I show her love and respect — 

And never the wants of my children neglect." 

Then a sweet little woman came forward and said: 

•'Your Honor, John's a terror when he's out of his head: 

He's a bad man in his cups, but when sober he shows 

The true love of his heart for us all. Sure God knows 

We all love him for his good ways and for what he has been — 

Oh if we only could save him from whiskey and gin?" 

Then the poor woman broke down and wept aloud, 

While the silence of death fell on Court room and crowd. 

And there, in that sad presence of sorrow and shame, 

A new pledge was born in humanity's name — 

A pledge that shall be uttered, applauded and retold 

As long as man lives and the ages unfold. 

The Judge called the man to him and said: "My friend, 

Your abuse of the law you may not defend. 

This Court was created by the City to enforce 

Her laws upon all and in due course; 

And any one who does not those laws obey 

Must sooner or later the penalty pay. 

But this Court may suggest, and by another plan, 

Temper Justice with Mercy to the type of man 



18 Latest Compositions of Edwin L. McDowell 

You seem to be, and thereby help to save 

A citizen from going to a drunkard's grave. 

Now, I will give you a chance to prove whether or not 

You are a man of your word or a helpless sot. 

Here's an Honor Pledge which reads: 'Be it known 

That for one year I promise to let liquor alone; 

That once a week I will call at the house of this Court 

And on my own word of honor there make my report; 

That this pledge shall operate in lieu of my fine, 

And be good for one year from the day I sign; 

That should I the conditions of this pledge neglect, 

The fine, hereby stayed, would go into effect; 

That should I, for said year, prove of good report 

I would be deemed a man of my word by this Court.' 

Now, John, sign this pledge and your fine I will stay. 

Come, speak up, be quick, what have you to say?" 

John looked at the Judge, amazed, and afraid; 

For that appeal to his word of honor had made 

An impression on his heart, and soul, and mind, 

Of a something he had lost and could not find. 

Then, as a drowning man in one minute may see 

Every scene in his whole life's history, 

So, in his mind, a series of motion pictures did unroll. 

Showing him the demon that controlled his soul. 

And that demon seemed real, for John heard it say, 

"Ho, ho, ho, what is honor to you anyway? 

Ho, ho, ho, you are mine and your will I deny: 

Ho, ho, ho, your good resolutions I defy: 

Ho, ho, ho, you are mine and shall be till you die!" 

And the demon seemed real, for John smelled its foul breath 

And saw it smile as it said: "Mine, mine, until death!" 

The agony of a great fear possessed John now; 

And great drops of cold sweat broke out on his brow; 

And he crouched and bent low as if under the weight 

Of the demon pressing him down to a drunkard's fate. 

But look, John seems now to be resisting the demon there 

And wrestling away from the folds of his own despair — 

He is now listening and heeding his dead mother's voice. 

Beseeching him to battle with the demon and to rejoice. 

'Look up, my son, look up!" he is hearing her say; 

"Awake, look up; and conquer the demon of rum today!" 

Then he did look up and instantly the demon fled the place. 

Now, John, erect, is looking into his angel mother's face; 



McDowell memories 19 

The music of her gentle voice is in his memory ringing, 
And once again he hears her clearly, sweetly singing, 

(Organ music and voice heard in the distance.) 

"Sweet hour of prayer, sweet hour of prayer, 

That calls me from a world of care, 

And bids me at my Father's throne 

Make all my cares and wishes known; 

In seasons of distress and grief, 

My soul has often found relief. 

And oft escaped the tempter's snare 

By thy return, sweet hour of prayer, 

And oft escaped the tempter's snare 

By thy return, sweet hour of prayer." 

(Music and voices off.) 

Then the Judge awoke him from his vision of rum — 

"John, what have you to say, will you sign, are you dumb?" 

"Sign? Why God bless you, yes. Gee, but my hand's unsteady; 

There I've signed. Judge, I'm feeling better already." 

And there in that Court on that sad, dreary morn 

A new Declaration of Independence was born. 

And that signer lived up to its principle so well. 

That the joys of his people no tongue can tell. 

And there in that Court, we do hereby allege — 

The Birth of the magical Pollard Pledge 



20 Latest Compositions of Edwin L. McDowell 

THE RED SWAN 



Long years ago before Illinois was known to the world as a 

state, 
The first Indian chieftain, Chicaque, as an avenger, had no 

mate; 
But the Second chieftain, Chicaque, slew his enemy, the 

Iroquois, 
By an alliance with the Missouris and their love for Illinois. 
But now they are chiefly remembered through Chicago, U. 

S. A. 
Yes, in those days, the famous Chicaques were the heroes of 

poem and play; 
Long years ago before Missouri, as a state, by the world was 

known. 
There lived a quaint Nudarchan chief who always had to be 

shown : 
He loved to plow in his primitive way, and to plant, and to 

increase 
The fruits of a pastoral life in his tribe, and the love of free- 
dom and peace. 
Yet, because of his love for a beautiful squaw of the trib^ of 

the Illinois, 
Nudarcha shot his deadly arrows into the tribe of the Iroquois. 

Now, the Illinois squaw loved Nudarcha, but balked at his 

tribal name; 
And she vowed that she never would marry him until he had 

changed the same. 
So, the Illinois and the Nudarchas held a pow-wow, and, in 

the style of Indian juries. 
They sealed Nudarcha to his squaw, and named them the 

Missouris. 
Then back to the Ozark mountains Nudarcha by honeymoon 

stages hied. 
And out of a forest of red oak trees he built a wigwam for 

his bride; 
Built it far up on the top of Red Mountain, just below its gentle 

breast. 
Where the up slope broke to the plain and forms a splendid 

spot to rest. 
There the trails branched around on the shoulders of the 

mountain to the other side, and led 



McDowell memories 21 

Over backbone and neck to the very top of Red Mountain's 

bald old head. 
And there in that quaint Red Mountain rest one rosy summer's 

morn, 
A sweet little wild Indian baby girl unto the Missouris was 

born. 
And Nudarcha and Missouri sensed the glory of that happy 

day's holy dawn; 
And they prized the papoose as the heir of their blood, and 

they named her The Red Swan. 

Meanwhile the Red Swan grew apace, the wonder and pride 

of her tribal race. 
Nor redder the red blood in her heart's red core than the color 

of dress and moccasins she wore. 
Astride of her steed of Indian breed she would leap into rivers, 

and swam them, too, 
)Jump brush heaps and gullies wide as hounded elk or wild 

deer do. 
Oh! she was the idol of the Missouris; and it reoiced them 

all to see 
Her ride up Red Mountain unto its top with the swiftness of 

a bee. 
But more they loved to have her come and sing Indian songs 

to the beat of the drum, 
Or dance, Indian fashion, their camp fires around, to the clang 

of the gong and the pound on the ground 
Often their tepees she would visit to foster and care for the 

sick papoose, and all their joys and sorrows share. 
Strange bead work she taught them, and to spin and to weave, 

and all their common wants relieve. 
A simple child of nature, ignorant of creed or laws, 
Her rosarie a red circle of savage bucks and squaws. 
Yet Saxon princess, German countess, United States belle, and 

Colleen Bawn 
Would applaud the womanly virtues of the North American 

Red Swan. 

Now the Red Swan had heard of Chicaque the Second, and re- 
port had made her wise, 

Regarding his prowess, his noble stature, handsome face and 
eagle eyes. 

And Chicaque the Second likewise had heard of the Red Swan's 
wondrous beauty, _ ., . _ 



22 Latest Compositions of Edwin L. McDowell 

Her marvellous feats on horseback, and her love of home and 

duty. 
And lo! from the lakes to the Mississippi, Chicaque and his tribe 

canoed their way; 
Thence on swift horse to the Ozarks, where they found in 

grand array 
Chief Nudarcha and the Missouris, unto whom Chicaque told 

the story 
Of the Illinois war with the Iroquois, and of his father's fame 

and glory. 
But, even as he spake, Chicaque heard a voice — a voice that 

made him pause — 
For why he could not tell, but soon, amazed, he found the 

cause. 
Nudarcha lifted the tent flap, and behold, before them stood 
The Red Swan, innocent of Indian blanket, gown or hood, 
But bewrapped from neck to ankle in woven folds of lustrous 

red; 
A band of feathers, red, white and blue, around her beautiful 

head. 
Her cheeks aglow and her eyes ashine, like stars through the 

forest shade. 
She stood before Chicaque the Second, unsurprised and unafraid. 
Then at her feet Chicaque fell, and hiding his eyes from hers, 

he cried: 
"If, now, the Red Swan of the Missouris in her beauty, glory 

and pride. 
Will honor Chicaque of the Illinois, and consent to be his bride, 
Then will he lift his eye to hers, that they may unfold his soul 

and show 
That he loves the Red Swan with the truest love that love ever 

caused his heart to know." 
"I haveprayed the Great Spirit,"' the Red Swan made reply, 
"To give unto the Missouris the far-seeing eye, 
The wise-hearinsf ear, and the understandmg heart, 
And unto them the love of peace to impart. 
And now thou dost come to make naught my prayer, 
And, by alliance, compel us to share 
Thy deeds of blood upon the Iroquois. 

Hearken, Chicaque, and thou dost not smoke the pipe of peace. 
The honor of thy favors must this day cease." 
"Alas! my Red Swan," spake Chicaque, 1 am bound by my 

tribal vow, 



McDowell memories 23 



If ever I smoke the Pipe of Peace, or work the ground with hoe 

or plough, 
Until with thy tribe as my ally, I shall have conquered the 

Iroquois, 
And buckled their scalps as the trophies of war on the black 

belts of the Illinois. 
Then shall I ride before my tribe a traitor, self-confessed. 
And out of my mouth command my braves to shoot their 

arrows through my breast. 

"Nay, Chicaque, arise and set thy face 

Back to the glories of thine own proud race. 
The Red Swan hath but charmed thine eyes, 

Thy soul she loves. In paradise 
The all great Spirit may bring us both 

To know the joys of love's true oath. 
But now such love thou canst not give, 

So hasten hence, and love and live 
Among thy people. From dusk to dawn 

Thou woulds't ever be unhappy with the Red Swan." 

Then Chicaque arose, and with strange, savage glee 

Shouted: "Then I will conquer the Missouris and thee!" 
Then angrily he mounted his horse and away 

To summon his warriors for the bloody afTray. 

"Up! up! my braves! To arms! The Missouris would destroy 
All hope of love or alliance with our tribe, the Illinois. 
So, with every breath you draw today, an arrow you must start 
That shall not fail to reach and pierce a Missouri to the heart. 
Now draw your bows, and your tomahawks swing; with every 

breath 
And let each twang and clang proclaim a foe gone to his death." 

But lo, or ere his savage bucks their giant bows had drawn, ■ 
At the front of the Missouris he beheld the Red Swan. 
Chicaque checked his warriors and unto them loudly cried: 

"For her I have lived and far rather had died 

Than have lived to see the Red Swan opposing me. 

Withold thine arrows a little spell — I have loved her well; 

Unstring thy bows awhile and rest. 

We may not shoot our arrows at a woman's breast. 

Nay, we are of the Illinois, and not so inhuman 



24 Latest Compositions of Edwin L. McDowell 

As to use our tomahawks on a woman." 

Then the Red Swan rode her horse out into the clear, 
And shouted that all the tribes might hear: 

*'Lo! here and now, I challenge thee, Chicaque, on any horse 

of thine. 
Three times around Red Mountain, 'gainst this good horse of 

mine. 
Three times around, thence up the slope, and around the turn, 

nor rest. 
But on and up, to the very top of Red Mountain's bald old 

crest. 
And the one who gains that mountain top the first shall wave 

his flag and say; 
Whether the Missouris and the Illinois shall have peace or war 

today. 
Take, then, thy flag of black, Chicaqaue, 
My flag of white the tribes all know, 
Now may the Great Spirit keep us from harm, 
I am ready, Chicaque, Go!" 

Into Chicaque's heart there leaped hope and joy. 

As he sprang to horse and sped forth for the Illinois. 

Like honey bees winging their hive, they chase 

Each the other around the mountain's base. 

The first circle completing, face to face; 

The second, like the lightning, Chicaque has won; 

The third, neck and neck, and now they wheel for the run 

Up the mountain, to where he who wins may declare 

For the glories of peace or the horrors of war. 

Up cow-path, and bridle-path, through thicket and mead; 
Like hounds on the scent of wild game they speed, 
Nor take heed of aught save the end of the plain 
Where he who turns first, the race may gain. 
Now the trails lead apart, forcing rider from rider, 
And the distance between them grows wider and wider. 
Yet higher and higher they climb; and now higher and higher 
They come together again, neck and neck, and each flyer 
Holds the flag of his tribe tight while nearing the test, 
Where the trails run around, and up to the mountain's crest. 
Now they are thundering along, and now at the turn they wheel 
left and right, 



I 



McDowell memories 25 



Around the shoulder of the mountain, and vanish from sight. 

Not tenser an orchestra's strings keyed to high pitch 

Than the nerves of the tribes straining and craning and wonder- 
ing which— , „ ^ 

On which the luck racer whose flag shall first rise, 

As a joy or a curse on their upturned eyes. 

"Whip-poor-will, whip-poor-will, whip-poor-will, yell the 
Illinois, 

Their contempt for the Missouris showing: 

And 'oo-oo-oo, oo-oo, oo-oo-oo-oo-oo," like Shanghai roosters 
proudly strutting and crowing. 

"To-whoo, to-whoo, to-whoo," howl the Missouri owls, all sense 
of danger tabooing; 

Yet caw, caw, cawing as wild crows do caw, when a heavy storm 
is brewing. 

But look! like a swift flash of light through the clouds at dawn, 
The white flag rises first, and the winner— the Red Swan. 
Then Chicaque galloped down, and before his tribe said to them, 

•'I now must break my tribal vow, or, deny Red Swan the race." 
"That I will not do. Lo! here I stand a traitor, sellf-confessed. 
And out of my mouth I now command thy arrows through my 

breast." 
They strung their bows with savage haste, but the Red Swan 

galloped upon the scene. 
And bade them hold their arrows, as she stood the space be- 

tween. 
"Chicaque, thou shall not break thy vow, nor lose thy life for 

Here before our tribes I now unfold my heart's true love for 

The Missour'is will follow the Illinois over the Father of Waters 

and the Lakes afar; „. • »» 

Thy firm and faithful friends in peace, thy strong allies in war. 

Then an arrow struck Chicaque's breast, but not from his 

warriors, now dazed and stupid. 
The shaft that pierced him to the heart was from the bow ot 

Cupid. 
The Illinois unstrung their bows, delighted and satisfied. 
All hailed Chicaque, their loyal chief, and Red Swan his true 

bride. 



Latest Compositions of Edwin L. McDowell 



A GAME CALLED "GUESS ME OUT/' 



PROLOGUE: 

It was on the ship St. Louis one night, 

On her way home with as gay and bright 

An array of Uncle Sam's sons and daughters 

As ever sailed o'er the briny waters — 

Americans all who lived on earth 

To make life worth the living — 

Giving and forgiving — swap clocks, 

Song or story — 

Love country and home, and fight for "Old Glory." 

There were Vassar girls, college boys, belles and beaux 

From all the States, and the sequel shows 

A mystical maid from a land whose sun 

Shines not in the soul of every one. 

That night, the ship rang with laughter and shout 

O'er a game, the girls called, "Guess Me Out;" 

Which taxes the foolish, the witty and the wise 

To enact or guess what the story implies — 

Merchants, friends, stranger — all jokingly tried 

To guess each other out: and politely pried 

(Through well acted plots), into each other's ambitions, 

Or positions in life: such were the conditions, 

When the beautiful, mystical women revealed 

Herself, and yet remained concealed. 

(Music — A few introductory chords.) 

Scene I. 

I'm a worker in this world of ours, 

Invaluable when justly used. 

Yet by good people of every creed 

Most terribly abused. 

ril tell you what I do and then to help you "Guess Me Out" 

I'll show you when and where and what my work is all about. 

Oft at night I'm seen a-begging midst the wretches of the town, 

Only to wake at early sunrise 

In satin slippers and silken gown, 

Night comes apace 



McDowell memories 27 



Music (Waltz). 

Again as queen of gambling dens I sin, 

Yet all the world of fashion, on the morrow, takes me in. 

Yes, though all the world abhors and shrinks 

At my treachery and deceit. 

Yet that same world upholds and showers trophies at my feet. 

All my griefs, my sins, my joys I hide, 

Yet hide in vain. 

For the eyes of countless watchers 

Bring my deeds to light again. 

Aye, every hidden intrigue, 

Nameless deed, and siren wiles, 

But blesses and enshrines me 

With the world's approving smiles. 

Anon I cry in agony with very loathing of my life 
Find riches, splendor, palaces, a curse — 
A bitter strife. 

Aye, midst the inner temples built of amethyst and pearl 
My heart cries oft for the farmer lad 
I loved when a peasant girl — 
Yes, I, that poor plebeian girl — 
Now married to a king. 
Conspire to make him loathe me, 
His court to ruin bring — 
I coquette with Sir Rudolph, 
Great Prime Minister of State, 
And within my secret chamber 
Plan the King's swift certain fate. 
Swiftly and noiselessly as a Borgia 
With sure poisonous intent, 
I creep to my husband's chamber 
On my murderous errand bent — 
Heaven see not the deed I do. 
Fate laugh, and devils grin, 
The King is dead — 
And by my hand. 
Lo — a murderess — queen of sin. 
Hark! 'tis the alarm bell! 
Come, black spirits of murder all my 
Acts, and deeds so drape. 
That yon dead King's avengers 



28 Latest Compositions of Edwin L. McDowell 

I forever may escape. 

Hark! Thunder! E'en nature is shocked 

And revolts at the sight 

Of a murderess! doomed. 

Look! swift whirling meteors, supernaturally bright 

Vividly belting the night with ribbons of light. 

Bah! Not so, 'tis my cowardly heart 

Hammering sparks from my brain! 

Conscience, avaunt! 

Queen of a dead King, live and reign. 

Scene II. 

So I lure my conscience back to rest. 

And wed the dead King's brother — 

Flirt with the Duke De Kouqergay, yet secretly 

Love another. Exposed at last, I escape, 

And now in many disguises travel, 

Striving with body, mind and soul, life's mysteries to unravel. 

I sport with detectives and cover my track 

By magic of speech and of pen; and 

Delight to crush, in my serpentine coils, the mighty conceits 

Of men, I marry again and again 

And rejoice; but I bury them all to my sorrow; 

In fact, I may marry a husband today 

And bury a lover tomorrow. 

As a gypsy, I wander, and freak loving 

Throngs, respond with bright gold for my dances 

And songs: To the Castanet's clack and wild music 

I whirl, or charm with the songs of a Tyrolese girl. 

And now on my fleet-footed steed 

I go racing, leaping hedges and ditches — 

Yoix, Tally ho! foxes chasing: 

Now, I am challenged for the lead 

And I give my filly full rein — | 

Away we dash past them all 

O'er hill, valley, plain: 

My saddle girth breaks, ^ 

Yet with horse at full speed ^^ 

I cut loose the old saddle '' 

And on his bare back keep the ^ead — 



McDowell memories 29 

My blood is afire — 

All impulse? — Well, yes — 

On my steed's back I stand 

And ride a la circus in a style simply grand. 

Now behold me transformed 

To a wench black as night, 

Jigging Dan Tucker by the moon's silvery light — 

Then presto — I'm waltzing. 

As a beautiful fair Caucasian pet, 

And with old F. F. V's dance a la minuette. 

Scene III. 

Now, retribution overtakes me, 

Light leaves me — I'm blind. 

And I grope in the dark 

With a sin-haunted mind, 

I'm blind, yet I see — 

The King's skull I see — 

From his eyeless sockets two snakes are uncoiling, 

Their tongues like forked lightning 

Through tumutuous black skies are darting. 

Death stalks through my guilt-quivering soul. 

Down, down through perdition's torments I fall. 

Nor angels nor devils take heed to my call. 

Help, God of my fathers! and lo! O strange, 

O marvelous transition — 

Behold me a chaste God-fearing wife 

With an humble disposition. 

Scene IV. 

Again I am changed to a Roman Vestal 

Deeply in love with ancient lore, 

Treading the paths Rome's Virgins trod 

In the Vestal days of yore. ' > 

Me passionless? Yes 

Cleopatra turned Saint? *. 

Well, no.— Though Cleopatra turned to clay, 

Still, may form the shrine of a soul divine 

In the light of the judgment day. 

But I'm free from Cleopatra's spirit; 

Vesta, Vesta, now rules my soul: 

And while her lamp shines round 



30 Latest Compositions of Edwin L. McDowell 

Naught of evil can control. 

Now I would rather at Vesta's altar worship, 

And feed the sacred fires, 

Than conquer a world of mighty Kings 
Through force of arms or base desires: 
For, as yon moon o'er wastes of waters 
Throws her broad-pathed light sublime, 
So, virtue, in a Roman maiden. 
Shines across the tracks of time. 

Scene V. 

Theosophist you guess me? No. Clairvoyant? No. — No, 

Greater far — thought every night my flesh and spirit 

Engage in delusive war. 

Swift changes o'er my being 

Come each night twixt eight and eleven, 

In which I feel the pangs of hades 

Or taste the joys of heaven. 

Honored fathers and sainted mothers 

Oft have blessed me with sweet praise, 

That from bad to safer channels I had turned 

Their children's ways. 

Yet brave sons and noble daughters 

By my wondrous life enchanted. 

Rashly seek my ways to follow, 

Self-opinioned and undaunted: 

But, alas! disaster follows. 

For, where "the few" may reach the goal, 

"The many," alas, fall by the way-side, 

Hurt in body, mind and soul. 

Such is the life of the woman you see, 

And such is her work: 

And I think you'll agree that 

In solving the passions which save or destroy, 

A woman's whole life should be free from alloy, 

And so, I am a worker in this world of ours, 

Invaluable when justly used, 

Yet, by good people of every creed 

Most terribly abused. 



McDowell memories 



31 



And, now, that all may judge of my work. 
And truly every fact guess, 
Permit me to introduce myself. 
Dear friends, I am — an "Actress." 



Copyright Reserved. 
September 1892, St. Louis, Mo. 



ED. L. McDowell. 




Rader Pub. & Prtu . Co., St. l,ou3s 



1 






